


My Delight

by Mooncatx



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Human/Omnic Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 08:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21223823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mooncatx/pseuds/Mooncatx
Summary: Maximilien and Widowmaker having sex.





	My Delight

For a human, Amelie is cold. As an omnic, Maximilien’s mouthpiece is colder. The metal is a chilled, onyx black, smooth, hard, rubbing firmly against the slick opening of her sex, and she revels in the sensation. She purrs her approval as he begins to hum, sending sonic vibrations against her, into her, licking through her with exquisite care and expertise no mere human tongue could replicate. Maximilien has had many lovers, omnic, human, male, female. He has tried all the flavors of sensual delight, sexual exploration. He has found it mostly pleasant, occasionally awkward, sometimes confusing, and in the end, rewarding in and of itself. Maximilien has found the standards of wealth and power that humans have set to be satisfactory. He has a talent for accumulating wealth, and achieving power. Enough to have earned him a place on the Talon Council. Enough to bring Talon’s prized operative to his bed. 

Amelie Lacroix, known as Widowmaker, is exquisite. Naturally beautifully, artificially accentuated with modifications that are the leading, razor’s edge of genetic engineering. She has surpassed the common masses of humanity to a breathtaking degree. She is the height of perfection in lethal grace, an assassin without peer. A woman talented in death dealing, whose every supple curve and sensuous line, delights Maximilien in ways that mystify him. She is a prize, to be sure. He has felt the keen envy of his fellow Talon Council members for having her this way. His Mistress. His Consort.  _ His _ . 

The long, delicately tapered, shadowed azure fingers of her hands grip like steel at his head as her soft thighs quiver like the hyper beat of a bee’s wings. He sings his desire to her in pulses of rapture, slides the articulated metal of his fingers into her intimate openings, and claims her. He loves how she clenches so tightly around his digits while keening her approaching surrender. He fills her with more of his touch, stretching her, bringing a scream as she comes undone in an explosion that showers him in the flood of her sexual fluids. He wishes he had taste sensors, that he could savor the taste of her, but he has other ways to know her. His sensors drink in the feel of her, the sound of her, the delicate medley of scents of her, and most especially the sight of her, completely undone, crying softly as he strokes her sex, extending the after shocks. She’s so delightfully messy now. Completely vulnerable. 

Only he can see her this way. He records and saves the sensory input of Widowmaker at her most private and intimate in his memory core, protected by firewalls even the infamous Sombra cannot hack. His and his alone. For as long as he would exist, she would never die. Her memory would be preserved in him. He would make as many memories of her as time allowed. Her breath had returned to it’s steady norm, her eyes looked at him with golden sensuality, and her lips were curved in the slight smile that set her features with heart stopping wickedness. Now it was his turn to quiver as she played with his sensory input with sensual expertise. 

Maximilien hummed in anticipation and a trace amount of fear. Widowmaker was dangerous in so many ways. She was capable of bringing him to the little death. She could kill him so many ways, bring him to the greater death if she so chose. Her lips pressed to his surface, her tongue lapped delicately the taste of herself on his faceplate while her fingers stroked his exposed cables, teasing lubricant from his valves, exciting erotic frission along his receptors. She would make him scream in rapture.

“Amelie…” his voice buzzed on her name, making it a croon, a plea, a prayer.

“Shhhh  _ mon petit cher,  _ shhhh…” 

To be continued?


End file.
